


Unity

by Remful



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, F/M, Political Alliances, Ylisse and Plegia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remful/pseuds/Remful
Summary: "So it is with concern towards the future of both our nations that I put forth this offer: That our Heirs, Robin and Emmeryn, marry, thus binding our nations together as one, so that peace might finally settle on this shared continent we call home." Awakening AU





	1. Book 1, Chapter 1: The Road to Peace 1

**Hello!**

**Whilst I must sadly report Darkhearts is on hold/coming along slowly, this new idea came** **to me, this time for Awakening.**

**This is, unsurprisingly, an AU. There will be some departures from canon, but they only matter for later in the story. The main one for now is that the 'Crusade' occurred one Exalt further back than in canon, i.e, it was Chrom's Grandmother that launched it, not his father.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem.**

* * *

… _.So it is with concern towards the future of both our nations that I put forth this offer: That our Heirs, Robin and Emmeryn, marry, thus binding our nations together as one, so that peace might finally settle on this shared continent we call home._

_In Grima's name, I offer this in good faith._

_-Validar Alexios, King of Plegia and First Son of Grima_

 

"That is the offer presented to us by the Plegian King."

In the sunlit council chambers of the Ylisstol Palace, with its many windows, and large, round table in its centre, the newly crowned Exalt Nicholas Lowell set down the missive on the expansive table, and sighed as his councilors broke into argument. Including himself, two dozen people sat around the table, and argument was the most common state of affairs. 

The din was barely tolerable, but he supposed it would do some good, allowing them to vent. His Mother's Crusade had cut deep, both in the Plegian people, and his own, the Ylissean's. His court was divided into three main factions. The Isoldian's, who were allies and supporters of his mother, who advocated for war. The Bulls, who took their name from the bullion that made up their wealth, who were advocates for trade. Lastly came the Irises, supporters of peace and isolation, and usually members of the priesthood in some way or another. He could count on the support of the majority of the Bulls and Irises, but the Isoldian's were another matter.

"You cannot be serious." It was Lord Claudius Bradshaw whose voice cut through the squabbling. He was a staunch Isoldian, and had been one of the previous Exalt's most loyal allies. He was old, with greying hair, green eyes and wore flowing robes of white and red. "Your Radiance, this...this must be a jest, yes? You are not actually truthful in this?"

"I am, my Lords and Ladies." The Exalt responded calmly. "King Validar of Plegia has offered peace, bound by the marriage of both of our heirs. A political union that would result in the combining of our nations into one."

This declaration was met by out right hissing of distaste, and even calls for the Exalt to sit, a great show of disrespect by a councillor. Nicholas shot them all a cold look, and they fell silent.

It was Bradshaw that spoke first out of the councillors."A vile thought. They wish to pollute our society and faith with their death-worshiping ways. Naga forbid. That is not peace, that is capitulation! To them!"

There was a round of murmured agreement, before a second Isoldian stood up to speak.

"I am afraid I must agree with my Lord Bradshaw." Lady Fall commented. She was young, barely an adult by Ylissean law. Her father had been a Mage, and she had followed in his footsteps. Old Lord Fall had died in the final battle alongside Exalt Isolde, and Lady Cintra Fall had not taken it well in the least. "Peace, especially this 'Peace by Union' is unacceptable."

"I understand your hesitation, Lady Fall" Nicholas sighed. "You have lost more than most that sit amongst this court during my mother's Crusade. But we  _must_ consider it. Both Ylisse and Plegia are on the brink of collapse. This union, however unpalatable we might find it, would likely put an end to internal wars on the continent  _forever._ Is that not enough? How many dead must there be on both sides for this to truly be on the table?"

"As many as it takes to wipe out the Plegian population in its entirely.." Lady Fall replied coldly. "As Exalt Isolde intended. Nothing less than the total annihilation of their people will suffice as justice for the fallen."

"Trust an Isoldian to advocate butchery." Another man drawled. "But I suppose a little girl who knows nothing of war would rush in for worthless glories."

Duke Martin Bloodman was a consummate member of the Bulls, being that the largest, most profitable harbour in the Halidom was in his lands. He had proved supplies for the Crusade, but had withheld his troops, which had earned the ire of Exalt Isolde. The man was fat, balding, and maintained a bushy brown beard. He wore Valmese styled clothing, which garnered him a number of glares from even members of his own faction.

"Hold your tongue, coward!" Fall bit back. "It is traitors like you that caused this mess. You even had the temerity to marry one of those heathens."

"Perhaps we ought to take time to calm our tensions." A member of the Irises, the current Hierarch of the Faith, spoke up now. He was young for his position, barely into his forties. Herschel Norris had not been Hierarch when the crusade, but as his predecessor had retired in disgrace for supporting the war, he had stepped up to fill the position. "A serious matter like this ought to be debated with cooler heads, no?"

 _Please, Please work._ Nicholas mentally prayed.

And it did…

For all of ten seconds.

"How can a man of the Priesthood even say that?" Bradshaw spat. "This is  _not_ a serious matter. This is a joke. Unworthy of our time. Let us finish the work our beloved Exalt Isolde began, and wipe the heathen scum from the earth!"

Another round of murmured agreement came from the other Isoldian's and even a few of the Bulls, and Nicholas honestly felt like screaming. The Isoldians had a habit of repeating the same arguments over and over again. Nevermind that they were the newest political faction on the council, and the only reason he couldn't remove them was the fact that they represented the military, and his nation was still at war. All of this...racist bigotry was what he thought to be simple greed, and a hunger to remain relevant in what he hoped would be the new normal of peacetime.

"And what of those that follow our faith within Plegian borders?" Herschel shot back. "You would have us kill our fellow faithful for the crime of being Plegian?"

"If there are true, Naga-worshipping citizens amongst the heathen rabble, they ought to have the decency to sit and let us do our holy work, bloody though it may be. They don't, they interfere. And so therefore we must conclude there is not a scrap of good in any of their black, Plegian hearts." Lord Bradshaw said firmly, turning his attention to Nicholas once more. "Your Radiance, I do not doubt that we should strive for peace, but we should not mock the notion by entertaining this... _insult_  of an offer."

Nicholas stood up slowly, and every eyes was on him.

"We will discuss this further...but not today." He told them. "The next council meeting will be a week from now, at which point I will make my final decision. The Crown Princess will join us, so tailor your language accordingly. Naga's Blessings to you all."

"Naga's Blessings." Came the muttered response as the council proceeded to file out.

 _Bloody politicians._ Nicholas thought with a sigh and slumped in his chair, hoping to Naga that his counterpart in Plegia was having an easier time of things.

Oh who was he kidding. If he had to suffer like this, it was only fair that King Validar had to too.


	2. Book 1, Chapter 2: The Road to Peace 2

Validar IV Alexios, King of Plegia and the Plegians, First Son of Grima, and head the the Royal House of Alexios (and a host of other titles he actually had a clerk to keep track of. A _well paid_ clerk, in fact.), tried to look dignified on his seat in the main parliament building in the Plegian capital of Thebes. The main chamber was semi-circular, with his Counts and Dukes filling the rounded edge, and he, his wife and his children, both his heir Robin and his bastard daughter, Aversa filled out the straight edge. The latter was four years senior, and the result of an affair with a Feroxi woman a couple of years prior to his marriage to his now wife, Arachne. Whilst she wasn’t her mother, Arachne was fond of Aversa, instilling in the younger woman a love of pegasi.

 

Validar was never meant to be King, he mused to himself. Thirteenth in line to the throne, that’s what he had been before Exalt Isolde’s damn crusade. The grandson of his predecessor’s youngest uncle, and a middling ranked member of the Grimleal’s priesthood, with only the bare minimum of education with regards to rulership. He knew he’d never be a great ruler, but as long as he didn’t collapse the Kingdom, he could rest easy knowing that his son and Heir, Robin, would put the nation on a peaceful and prosperous path once more. If he could manage that, he’d be content.

 

“With regards to the proposed plan to unify our nation with our eastern neighbours Ylisse, I will now open the floor to all your thoughts.” The King of the Plegians spoke aloud. “I would ask that we all remain calm and keep our discussion well reasoned and respectful.”

 

Campari Aeniad, the Lord Regent of Macedon, stood up. He was a career soldier, broad shouldered and straight backed, dressed in the traditional formal robes of a Plegian Nobleman. His niece, the eight year old Duchess of Macedon, Tharja Argead, was sat in her seat, fidgeting nervously. She was easily the youngest person in the room despite being one of the most powerful people in Plegia, and quite clearly out of her comfort zone. Her Regent shot her a kind smile, before clearing his throat, and addressing the room. “Your Majesty, my lords and ladies. You know me. I fought hard and well for this nation of ours when Exalt Isolde invaded. My goal..my hope, was for peace once more. Peace for my people. Peace for my niece. Now, peace is a noble goal as I am certain we can all agree, but we with must not be blind. Ylisse has proven that they would go to devastating lengths for... _differing_ ideologies. Can we honestly trust that any political union will last if our eastern neighbour is prepared to butcher us all in Naga’s name?”

 

“We can’t.” Validar glanced at his daughter as the fourteen year old got to her feet to address the chamber, nearly every eye was on her. She cleared her throat, hardened her gaze as much as she could, and began to speak.

 

“We can’t trust them not to hate us for holding to another faith. We can barely trust them not to kill us for the high crime of _not being Ylissean._ ” She drawled,and was met by agreeable murmurs. “... _But_ we must trust them to do so anyway. The thought of another war..like the damnable ‘crusade’ is unacceptable. Unconscionable, even. If Exalt Nicholas is, as he claims, nothing like his mother, surely he can wrangle in his own vassals? It is they who pose the greater threat now, not Nicholas. It is they that enabled Isolde to attack us, burn our cities, kill our soldiers and butcher our children.”

 

An elderly priest stood up. He was bald, slowly growing blind and toothless. He was quite obviously Feroxi, or of Feroxi descent given his darker skin tone. He was garbed in the traditional robes of a priest of the Grimleal faith, all black and purple and gold. “I must ask, my dear Lady Aversa. Your words speak true. But what you and your are suggesting is... _incredible_ change. _Unprecedented_ change. Can you honestly say that this is the right way forward for the Plegians, Grima’s own loyal followers?”

 

“Is change not part of Grima’s Teachings, my good priest?” Aversa questioned with a smile to the sound of good natured laughter. “The end of an era. That is what we are on the cusp of. The end of Ylisse and the end of Plegia. The start of something entirely _new._ For good or ill, change is part of the cycle of life, and thus has Grima’s approval and blessings. This is the _only_ path I see for our people and country that doesn’t involve revenging ourselves on the Ylissean populace.”

 

Aloeus Thallis, Lord of the Ylissean Marches, stood up now. He was pointedly _not_ in formal robes, but battle armour. He was scarred and scowling, stout and stern. A veteran of the Crusade who fought against Exalt Isolde in person, ‘The Bright Bulwark’ was known for his sandy, golden cloak emblazoned by a cream dragon’s skull and ancestral heavy spiked shield. He was old, like many in the room, silvery-grey hair that had been thinning for years sat atop his head. When he spoke, it was in a low, dry, drawl. “And why, pray tell us _Lady_ Aversa, should we not consider vengeance? We lost nearly _sixty percent_ of the population of the eastern provinces. Does that not warrant _some_ justice?”

 

“Uhm..”

 

All eyes, even those of the guards, fell on Prince Robin. The boy squirmed under their gaze, but held firm..or at least as firm as he could. “Would it not...make sense to only punish those that...pushed for war? Less blood. Less death. Less difficulty.”

 

Thallis chuckled quietly. “Straight from the mouth of a child. Do you think that the blood of barely a dozen tired old men is equal to our losses, boy?”

 

Validar cut in, his tone cold. “You address the Heir to the Throne, Lord Thallis. Do so in an appropriate manner, lest you find yourself lacking a tongue to do so.”

 

The Marcher Lord cleared his throat, and offered a polite, apologetic bow. “I...apologise for my tone my King, but not the words I spoke. It is only in dreams of children that the deaths of so many innocents avenged by a handful of executions.”

 

“You speak true, my Lord. It is not vengeance.” Validar stood, departing his seat and striding into the centre of the room. “But we do not seek _vengeance, but justice!_ Justice for our dead, our families and our citizens. Justice, not vengeance my friends. Justice not vengeance. Imagine a land united as one, my Lords and Ladies. Imagine, not needing to pray to Grima that your children need not fear burial in a foreign ditch for some nonsense war or other. That, we need not fear war with the age old enemy anymore. Vengeance leads to more blood, _more vengeance._ Justice, my friends. Justice is the path to peace, and prosperity..for both us, _and_ those in Ylisse.”

 

There was a rumbled of hushed discussion amongst those in the chamber. Validar let out a sigh, and made his way back to his seat, offering an encouraging smile towards his son. It _was_ his idea after all. Then a single, young voice punched through the din. “Justice, not Vengeance! Macedon will have peace on those terms, my King!”

 

Half the chamber was now looking at the precocious young Duchess from Macedon, whilst the other half erupted into similar, loud declarations. Tharja, the realisation that she had indeed shouted at the top of her lungs in the middle of a council meeting, was covering her face in a futile bid to hide her now very red cheeks.

 

It was the Queen, Arachne, that silenced the room. “Whilst it does appear that we are...more or less in agreement. This plan does hinge on my son agreeing to the plan. Now, as a mother I do not wish my son an arranged marriage in which he might well be unhappy, but as Queen, I understand that this is what being a Crown Prince means, making that sacrifice for the good of his people. So I propose that we arrange a diplomatic meeting on the border, so that Prince Robin can meet Princess Emmeryn.”

 

“Would the Prince be willing to do so?” Thallis asked aloud.

 

“..I’d...be willing to meet her.” The ten year old heir to the throne said hesitantly. “Although perhaps I ought to write to the Crown Princess first, so we’re not complete strangers.”

 

“A wise idea, my son.” The Queen commented with a small smile. “A very wise idea indeed.”

 

As the room once more descended into quiet, murmured discussion, King Validar chuckled to himself, who knew politics was this easy?


	3. Book 1, Chapter 3: The Road to Peace 3

Arachne Alexios, Queen-Consort of Plegia, formerly just Arachne of Naxos, sat in a spacious, sunlit room in the Palace of Thebes. The floor to ceiling windows allowed her to see the majority of the city below, whilst the walls of the room were full of bookshelves and a portrait of herself as a child with her parents. It was her private study within the palace, where she conducted her business and responsibilities.

She was, at least legally, commonborn. The daughter of a garrison commander that just so happened to be so unusually competent at his job, that what was meant to be a two year posting at the Naxos Garrison turned into twenty years. She had grown up surrounded by soldiers, healers and merchants, and eventually found her place with the chaplins, and the comforting holy words of Grima, even serving as one of the elite Dark Fliers of the Grimleal for a time. To them, and the Plegians in general, Darkness, with all its possibilities for change via creation or destruction both was an inherently good thing. That change, and good times and bad times and happiness and joy and sorrow and anguish and birth and death...all part of life, all unknowable and shrouded in the darkness of infinity, all good things. Of course, to the east, where The Faith of Naga was prevalent, 'darkness' had  _very_ negative connotations.

She cared little for the thoughts of her neighbours. It was at a Yalda Festival Market over a decade ago where she had first met the man that was now her husband. Of course, back then he was still a Priest and she a Priestess, but as marriages within the clergy were all but encouraged, there was little complaint from either of their parents. Truthfully, it was her own mother that had the most issues with the match, due to the frankly minor fact that Validar had a bastard daughter, and even then it was merely a token compliant as the elder woman had found the then two year old to be adorable (and on a far more serious note, and due to the markings of the Shadowgift, it would not do to hate her for her bastardry when she was so obviously blessed by Grima for greatness).

And now..a decade of marriage and a war later, she was Queen. Her son, the future King  _and_ Prince-Consort of Ylisse if all went well. Her Grandchild would rule the majority of the continent. Grima was certainly generous sometimes.

A knock at the door brought her out of her reverie. Running her fingers through her now slowly greying hazel brown hair, she called for them to enter. A moment later, a finely dressed servant entered the chamber carrying a tray. Without even glancing around the room once, he strode towards the Queen's desk, and placed it down. Upon it was a small  _demitasse_ cup, filled nearly to the brim with coffee. The servant took a step back, bowed once, and departed the room.

Arachne let out a calming sigh, and brought the small  _demitasse_  cup to her lips. Savouring the taste of the rich coffee in the peaceful quiet of her private study. She allowed herself only a single cup of the drink a day and would be damned if she didn't enjoy every sip. There was another knock at the door, but Arachne ignored it, allowing for the rich aroma of her favourite beverage to wash over her.

There was another knock, and her composure snapped.

"I swear to Grima, unless the Almighty has returned or the Palace is on fire, I really don't care, and won't for at least an hour!" The Queen all but roared from her seat.

"Ah. I take it you are taking your coffee, my dear." The voice of Validar, her sweet, loving, sometimes exasperating husband, drifted through from the other side of the door. It was a statement, not a question. "Might I come in, My Lady?"

Arachne let out a calming sigh. "Of course, dear."

Easing the doors open, the King of Plegia and the Plegians strolled in with a broad smile on his face. Barely a step behind him, and wearing smile that matched her father's, was Aversa. Arachne eyed the pair with a suspicious eye, and sipped her coffee.

"If the both of you are here, dare I ask where our son is?"

Aversa simply grinned. "He's on his way. With his letter to Princess Emmeryn too."

The Queen raised an eyebrow, and lowered her cup down onto her desk. She slowly eased herself up to a more imposing, regal stature. "And you're here grinning like mummers for…?"

"Father is happy because dealing with politics is easier than he thought, Robbie's happy because he got to ramble a little in his letter...and I'm happy because classes are done for the day and now I can pamper Vitora for a few hours. Why wouldn't we be smiling?" Aversa smiled.

"Vitora must be the most well cared for pegasus in the Kingdom by now, Ava." A young voice chirped. Robin Alexios, Crown Prince of Plegia strode in, and placed a letter down onto his mother's desk. He turned to look at the trio stood around the desk. "Could you look this over for me? I've got lessons."

"No you don't." His sister fired back with a smile as the King and Queen watched the siblingly back-and-forth. "You mean you're sneaking out Robbie."

"I-I don't-" Her brother stammered.

"Yes you do. You know you do.  _I_ know you do. Mother and Father know you do. That pickpocket of a friend of yours knows you do. I'd wager that even that adorable little Argead girl knows you do." Aversa teased her younger sibling. "'S better to just admit it."

Robin let out a sigh, and headed out of the room. "You're no fun, sister! And it's hardly sneaking out if Mother and Father  _know_  I do it."

"Have fun son!" Validar cheerfully offered a wave, waiting until the door closed before turning to his wife. "..I'll have the usual guards watching out for him, don't worry."

Arachne hummed, and sipped at her coffee again, and fought back a scowl. It had cooled. She placed the cup down and glanced at the letter on her desk. "So...who's going to read it first?"

Father and daughter turned and held one anothers gazes for a few moments, and both lunged for the letter.

* * *

_Emmeryn Lowell, Crown Princess of the Halidom of Ylisse._

_A thousand apologies for my presumptiveness in writing to you. Grima only knows how you must be feeling receiving this letter, especially so soon after the end of the war._

_I am Robin Alexios, although I would have preferred to introduce myself in person, if I am being entirely honest. But as my father and yours are trying to arrange a meeting for us, I thought it prudent that we not be complete strangers when that happens._

_Like you, I am blessed by a divine brand, although unsurprisingly my brand is that of Grima, not Naga. I am also blessed with my family's typical silver hair (my father dyes his hair black for some reason or other. I think he thinks it makes him look younger?)_

_Truthfully, I don't think I make for a good Prince yet, for the last few years I have actually been training and studying to become a priest, like my father. Father's predecessor, King Hasdrubal even suggested that I might have been able to serve as our equivalent of your Hierarch later in life. Alas, I fear that, barring the legitimisation my beloved sister Aversa, I will succeed my father as King of Plegia and the Plegians one day, so those plans are likely to remain unfulfilled. It matters little, as history called my father to Kingship, so too shall I answer as he did._

_I believe it only right that I clear up a major misconception that Ylissean's, rightly or wrongly, believe about the Faith of the Grimleal. As our faith is as important to us as yours is to you. I sincerely apologise if any of what you read insults you or yours, that was not my intention._

_We that follow the Grimleal faith believe that 'Darkness' does not mean evil. For do we not come into being in the warm darkness of our mother's womb? Do we not rest and sleep under cover of darkness? And when we die, are not our remains consigned to the cool darkness of the grave? To us, the dark represents infinite possibilities for creation, not merely thoughtless destruction._

_That is not to say that we consider_ _**all** _ _darkness to be sacred. Whilst dark magic is accepted as merely just another magic,_ _**black** _ _magic is illegal in all circumstances, and sometimes it is even thought of as heretical in the most extreme and heinous abuse of it. Dark magic is pure, the power of the creation through destruction or change. Black magic is corrupted, the power of destruction for destruction's sake...or used to create abominations._

_I wish you the best, and look forward to meeting you in person soon, or a response should you wish to send me one._

_Respectfully Yours, and may the blessings of Grima and Naga both be upon you._

_-Robin Alexios._


	4. Book 1, Chapter 4: The Road to Peace 4

When the Dark Flier touched down in the courtyard of the Ylisstol Palace, Nicholas had needed to move faster than he had done since the crusade, bellowing out orders for the Royal guards to step down and  _not_ start  _another_  war by shooting a messenger. The international condemnation for such an act would be nearly impossible to fix, such was the level of dishonor and pettiness it was considered. Even the more pragmatic nations across the Western Sea would look poorly upon an act, even if it were a mistake.

"Forgive my soldiers. I am afraid the scars of the crusade yet cut deep in my country, as I am sure it does in yours."

The Dark Flier held Nicholas' gaze for a few long, tense moments, before inclining her head respectfully. "Aye."

She swung herself off of her mount, and gently patting its mane before turning to the Exalt, now surrounded by Royal Guardsmen, lances pointed towards her. She cast her gaze over them all, and quite clearly fought back a scowl.

"...I am Sir Agatha of Pella, a Dark Flier of the Grimleal." The woman announced, and bowed stiffly. "I greet you with peace and good tidings in the name of our King, Validar the Fourth."

Nicholas bowed in return after the woman rattled off the traditional, formal introduction for peace time. "And I welcome you to my Halidom with peace and good tidings, and extend my protection to you."

It would annoy his guards, Nicholas knew. But by extending his protection to the Plegian, no Ylissean could harm her without committing treason. The Exalt knew that all it would take to spark a continuation of the Crusade was the death of this woman at the hands of one of his people, regardless of whether or not he approved. Which he didn't.

Inclining her head in acknowledgement, Agatha strode over to the Exalt and extended a hand. Nicholas accepted the offer, shaking the Plegian's hand firmly. "We will have a room prepared for you.. I am afraid we haven't done so already."

"It is fine, Your Radiance." Agatha replied plainly. "Might I ask for directions to the gardens? I mean no offence, but I wish to relax for a few hours before we must delve into the mire of international diplomacy."

The Exalt chuckled. "It is no bother, Sir Agatha. Emmie?"

The twelve year old Crown Princess of the Halidom of Ylisse, Emmeryn Henrietta Elissa Lowell, Grand Duchess of Whitecliff Bay, stepped forward, her brown-blonde in braids that came down both of her shoulders. She wore a remarkably simple green and white gown, and had a band of solid silver, inscribed with the first line of the holy text of Naga (" _In the time after Her blessing, there was Peace"_ ), rested atop her head. She curtsied, flawlessly, Agatha noted, and turned her gaze to the Exalt. "..Yes, Father?"

"Emmeryn. Would you please escort Sir Agatha to the gardens, for me?" He asked aloud. "She is visiting from Plegia."

The young princess swallowed, but nodded regardless. "Of course father."

Offering another stiff bow, Agatha proceeded to follow the young heiress, and away from the Exalt and his guards. When out of sight, she moved a hand to her belt and removed a small book from a side bag. It was purple, with Grima's brand printed in gold on the front.

"What….what are you going to be reading, Sir Agatha, if you do not mind my asking?" Emmeryn asked. "I..do not think I've seen a book like that before.."

The woman spoke in a reserved, uneasy tone. "It is a copy of  _The Alítheia,_ Your Highness. The holy text of the Grimleal. I would assume the reason you have not seen a copy before is due to the anti-Plegian laws put in place by your grandmother. If I recall correctly, she ordered  _all_ Plegian literature burned, the Almighty's words included."

Emmeryn nodded slowly, and opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. After she did this several times, Agatha spoke. "You can speak freely, Your Highness. I will not be insulted."

Taking the opportunity provided her, Emmeryn blurted out "...My Grandmother ...Exalt Isolde..she always said that Plegians were...monsters...demons...but ...why? Why did she start warring with Plegia if it was lies? What was the point?!"

The Plegian cleared her throat. "...This is not a lesson I should be teaching you ...but sometimes, people are just...bastards, for the want of a better word. I doubt your grandmother had a real reason for her actions. No petty religious differences and no racist bullshit..pardon my language" Agatha let out an almost sad sigh. "I would advise you, as the young woman that will likely be my likely future Queen, not to convince yourself that there was  _any_ discernible excuse or reason for Isolde's War, else you will almost certainly be disappointed."

Emmeryn lowered her gaze. "I..see. Thank you for your advice, My Lady."

"It was my pleasure, Your Highness." The aged Plegian replied, almost smiling. "I am happy to answer any questions you might have..as long as they are sensible."

 

* * *

It was only at the feast that evening, that the first incident occurred. There was a feast held in Agatha's honour, all of the Exalt's court, including many important nobles and councilors. Meats and breads and stews and cheeses and more wine than an army could drink. Agatha herself was sat next to the Crown Princess, at Emmeryn's own request, no less. It was then that he announced the potential engagement between Emmeryn and Robin publically.

"...This is a joke, r-right father?."

The protest came swiftly, but Exalt Nicholas had expected it. Whilst his eldest daughter had remained silent, her eyes still on the Plegian Woman as she spoke, trying to mask a smile that betrayed nothing but surprise and mild satisfaction, his son, who rarely thought before speaking on a good day, was still young enough that the courtly mask expected of him was easily rattled and lifted. The fact Chrom had been incredibly close to his grandmother hadn't helped.

"It is not." Nicholas replied to his son calmly. "An engagement is being finalised. There will be peace and unity between Ylisse and Plegia."

"But why?" The young Prince Chrom asked heatedly. "We've always fought them! Grandmother fought them! You've fought them! I'll fight them! Emmie doesn't need to...to.."

"Do as Princesses do and marry someone for the good of their nation?" Nicholas stared at his son with a tired expression. "Wars cost lives and money Chrom. As Exalt, I must weigh whether or not continuing to fight is worth it now that peace is on the table."

"Nana said that peace with monsters is impossible." Chrom huffed. "She was smart."

"Well my Mother was wrong." Nicholas snapped, more harshly than he intended. "She marched our people into a war we could not win without a miracle, one that was unlikely given her lack of ability to wield Falchion. On her orders countless innocents on both sides were killed!  _Children_ were butchered for the simple reason that they follow a different faith to ours! She forcibly conscripted our citizens when our armies were depleted! She died alongside farmers and miners and shopkeepers for Naga's sake! How is that smart?"

"B-But stopping monsters is smart!" The Prince protested. "And what monsters could be worse than those death-worshipping Plegians?!"

As gasps filled the room, all eyes slowly turned to Agatha, who had not stopped eating her meal. She spooned up some of the rich, meaty stew in her bowl, and brought it to her lips. Savouring the flavor for a few moments, she swallowed loudly, which was likely deliberate. When she spoke, the entire hall had little option but to listen. "...Youthful ignorance I can accept Prince Chrom. Intentional ignorance I cannot. Do remember that I am a member of the clergy,  _Princeling,_ and more versed in what constitutes 'death-worship' than you are. What you 'refer' to is in fact the Lethen Heresy, who focused only on the  _Lethe_ chapters of  _The Alítheia._ "

"Q-Quiet Plegian!"

"Well said My Prince!" The cool tones of Lord Claudius Bradshaw filled the chamber. "Don't give them a chance to spout their vile doctrines. The very fact that-"

"Oh do shut up, Claudius."

Every eye turned to the one that spoke. The Exalt-Consort, Maria, wore a bored smile on her face. Bradshaw went a furious shade of purple. When he opened his mouth to speak again, Maria beat him to it.

"Do remain quiet, you warmongering Isoldian pillock." She told him. "You are threatening the peace process with your words. Is that honestly how you wish to be remembered? 'Claudius Bradshaw, the Warbringer'?"

"Nay!" The man scowled. "But if we m _ust_ sell our Crown Princess like some common whore, we'd be better off allying with those Ancestor worshipping heatherns to the North, than the Devil worshipers to the west!"

With a shout from the Exalt, guards began to haul the Ylissean Lord out of the chamber, and then, swiftly, the chatter began again.

"If I were to write to Prince Robin…." Emmeryn murmured to the Plegian beside her.

"If you were to do so, you would be wise to remember that the official and formal name of our nation is the Theocratic Kingdom of Plegia, Princess." A ghost of a smile crossed Agatha's face. "Due to the Head of State also being the Head of the Faith. Be respectful, but not sycophantic. You are his equal, not his inferior. You  _will remain_ his equal, not his inferior."

"...I see.." Emmeryn nodded, before speaking again. "Can I ask something? If it is too personal, please say….why are you referred to as 'Of Pella', Sir Agatha?"

"...It refers to my status as being of common birth, Princess." The Plegian replied. "Whilst I do have a family name, when I am formally introduced or have a need to formally introduce myself as I did upon my arrival, it is by the city of my birth instead of my family name. It is the same for all commonborn in my situation. Our deeds are partly the glory of our home towns and cities. Instead of our families. That is solely a right of the Nobility. As I hail from the main city in the Duchy of Macedon, Pella, I am referred to as Agatha of Pella."

"Oh." Her gaze turned to the doors, where Bradshaw had been dragged through mere moments before. "Maybe...don't mention the fact you are a commoner to the Nobles."

Agatha snorted. "...Noted, Your Highness."

 

* * *

_Robin Alexios, Crown Prince of the Theocratic Kingdom of Plegia._

_I appreciate you writing to me more than can be articulated by ink and parchment. You need not ask forgiveness for contacting me in the manner you did, one of us needed to start things off, and I am glad that you took the initiative._

_As you wrote to me of your faith, it seems only fair that I do the same. The Faith of Naga does not have any name further than 'The Faith'. We believe that Light and Life are good, blessings from Naga, and that darkness and death are evil, the creations of demons. I am sad to admit that most of the time, Grima is listed amongst those demons. Though as I have no Priestly training, I am afraid I know not how to describe the faith further._

_As such, with your permission, I would like to propose a trade to take place upon our meeting. I would like to trade copies of the Holy Texts of our respective faiths. If our match does go through, I have little to no desire to anger your own people, nor do I wish to intentionally trick you into doing the same to mine._

_Respectfully Yours, and may the blessings of Naga and Grima both be upon you._

_-Emmeryn Lowell._

* * *

**T'is clarification time! Woo!**

**Ages: Bearing in mind that this first arc takes place only a few months after the Crusade ended, Robin is 10, Emmeryn is 12 and Chrom is 7 or 8 and Lissa is about 2 or 3, or to put it another way, most people are two years older than in canon. Of course, at the conclusion of this arc, we will go forward in time a little, and so on until the time of the games (which is about fifteen-ish years from where we are now).**


	5. Book 1, Chapter 5: The Road to Peace 5

"...by that foul Plegian witch you allow free reign of your own palace!" Bradshaw seethed. "You allow her to corrupt your daughter with impunity! I find myself  _glad_ Isolde is dead, so she cannot see what an utter failure her son has become! Plegia is our enemy! Plegia has always been our enemy! They always will be! And if you choose to naively ignore the threat they pose to all your people, I swear by Naga above,  _I WILL NOT!_ "

Without another word, Claudius Bradshaw pushed his chair away, and stalked out of the chamber, his robes. Lady Fall followed him a moment later, offering a formal curtsy before she too left, worry in her eyes. Seven others, the other Isoldian's (and two Bulls), all soon followed suit, but unlike Bradshaw, they showed at least  _some_ respect as they left, offering murmured 'Your Radiance's' and bows or curtsies as they headed after the leader of their political faction.

Emmeryn took a calming breath after all of the Isoldian's had departed. She found many of the councillors to be terrifying, and the fact that this group of men and women were the ones that ruled over the various regions of the Halidom was...disconcerting sometimes. The Isoldian's however, she felt... _disgusted_ by. The reason for Bradshaw's outburst had been a response to her father announcing that she was now in open and friendly conversation with Crown Prince Robin, in preparation for a potential meeting between the two. Peace it seemed, would happen.

From what the young Princess could tell, only two of the people that had just left the room had genuine reasons for their hatred. Cintra Fall had lost her father in the last battle, and Abenddis' lands were on the frontline of the crusade, and they had predictably suffered deeply. Aurelian Abenddis was now bound to a wheelchair and greying by the day despite only being in his early forties, but his wits and mind remained sharp. He still dealt with his paperwork personally everyday and had written poetry books in his youth. She supposed that Lord Bradshaw's grievance, that being Isolde's closest ally and lifelong friend, might also count..but she couldn't see how that was on the same level as Fall and Abenddis. In her eyes, he was just an old man that was desperate to hold onto what little, waning power he still had.

Emmeryn did think that Lady Fall was pretty though, with her dark hair and golden eyes that seemed to constantly be blazing in barely controlled fury. She wasn't  _that_ much older than her, the difference between eighteen and twelve was only six years after all.

"...Does anyone else wish to leave?" Her father asked in what she called his 'Exalt' tone of voice. The one that carried the full weight of his authority and power, the point where he was done putting up with the usual prattle of his argumentative councilors. The point where he was as far from her father as he ever got. The true meaning of his words needed not be said:  _Who else wishes to skirt treason?_

He eyed the remaining men and women, the Bulls and the Irises, as a heavy silence fell upon them all. Their gazes fell to the table as the gaze of their Exalt crossed them. "I shall take your silence as a no. Let us continue."

It was a Bull, Duke Bloodman that spoke first. "As you say, Your Radiance. Might I offer a suggestion as to a location for a meeting? The border of the Ylissean and Plegian Marches would seem a good spot."

"The spot of some of the bloodiest fighting in my Mother's Crusade?" Nicholas asked in an unimpressed tone. "I doubt our friends to the West would appreciate that, Duke Bloodman. Perhaps we ought to host the meeting in  _your_ city. At least Plegia respects and approves of trade."

The Duke smiled neutrally at the comment. "I would be honoured to host two Royal families, Your Radiance. But I fear that my dear Salthall Manor is too poor a palace as to host such an...auspicious meeting."

A faint round of chuckles went around the room, and the uncomfortable air slowly began to dissipate as the various councillors settled into debate and conversation. Emmeryn, if she was being honest with herself, tuned most of it out. Taxes and trade routes and... _stuff_ bored her. Ever since she had received the letter from Robin, she had actually spoken with the current Hierarch, Herschel Morris, on matters of the faith. It had...embarrassed her, to think that something two years her junior knew more of his faith than she did of hers. Sir Agatha had assuaged some of her concerns, pointing out that Robin had been  _training_ to become a Priest before his father had ascended the Plegian Throne. The Dark Flier pointed out that she was probably better at being a  _Royal,_ as Robin had only been so for only a few months.

There was a hesitant knock on the chamber doors, and Nicholas had called them in. Every eye was on the door as the person entered the room. To interrupt the council when it was in session was..decidedly unorthodox. It was his squire, Frederick Warwick, the son of a good friend. At thirteen years of age, he had only just began his martial training, as was the Ylissean tradition. The relatively plainly dressed boy fidgeted as he entered, cleared his throat and addressed the chamber. "Forgive me, Your Radiance, Your Highness, My Lords and Ladies. I bear a letter from his Lordship, Claudius Bradshaw of Brightrock."

Emmeryn watched as her father frowned, standing up from his seat and closing the gap between him and his squire. "And did his Lordship leave a verbal message for me, Squire Warwick?"

"No, Your Radiance. He merely left a letter." The youthful boy spoke in a hesitant tone, and offered said letter with a shaking hand. Nicholas let out a sigh, and took it, after which Frederick bowed, and made his exit.

The Exalt opened the letter, and his eyes soon widened at the words he read. His gaze turned to the others in the chamber. He cleared his throat, and read aloud for all the room to hear:

_Nicholas Lowell, Exalt of the Halidom of Ylisse,_

_Your Radiance, it is with our utmost regret and sorrow that we must announce the immediate and total_   _ **secession**_ _of all the lands and territory of the signatories below from the Halidom of Ylisse in perpetuity. Henceforth, our combined territory is to be addressed as the_ _ **Isoldian League**_ _._

_We cannot see how 'peace' with Plegia can ever last, and frankly we are of the opinion that your daughter deserves better in a husband than the son of an upjumped, filthy priest of the Grimleal. If you refuse to see the danger you expose your people to, we are resolved to protect our own people from your mistakes._

_Plegia must be held accountable for the crimes they committed during your mother's most righteous crusade. How many brave men and women did we lose to their vile Risen Abominations? How many orphans and widowers and widows did they leave in their wake? Too many. Far too many._

_The Isoldian League will see Exalt Isolde's great work realized, only unfortunately independent of her nation, and the one we now once called home._

_Please understand, we are fully prepared to turn our weapons east against you in order to gain our freedom, although we hope we can achieve our wish without the spilling of Isoldian or Ylissean blood. Plegia is our enemy, it will be up to you as to whether or not they are our_ _**only** _ _enemy._

_With the greatest respect, and in Naga's name._

_Signed,_

_Claudius Bradshaw, Lord of Brightrock, Elected Leader of the Isoldian League_

_Cintra Fall, Lady of Winterspeak_

_Aurelian Abenddis, Lord of the Plegian Marches_

_Paul Caverndish, Lord of Hearthhold_

_Lawrence Lawrence, Lord of Greensea_

_Robert Haycox, Baron of Haycox_

_Victor Lancaster, Regent for Baron Tyrian Lancaster_

_Edward Derringdon, Baron of Derringdon_

_Risley Weatherspoon, Baron of Weatherspoon_

_Janus Fairbanks, Bishop of the East Ylisse_

* * *

**I'm currently writing a Three Houses story on the side of Unity. I'll probably post the first chapter before the next Unity update, but that isn't guaranteed. And whilst I dislike lore dumps for the sake of lore dumps, I might well do one at the conclusion of this arc. Tell me your thoughts on that one. If the majority of you dislike the idea, I won't do it, but if you want some more info on the backstory/world of Unity, also say so.**

**Until next time!**


	6. Book 1 Chapter 6: Secessionist War 1

Castle Winterspeak, was a formidable fortress nestled in the western edge of the Feroxi-Ylisse border, unsurprisingly in the mountains. Once, it had been the holdout of a Sorcerer Lord, who intended to invade both Regna Ferox and Ylisse, until he had been toppled by the then Court Mage, Lucius Fall. The Exalt of the time, Aloysius the Elder, had been so grateful, in fact, that not only had he raised Lucius and his family to the ranks of the nobility, and granted the castle to them, but betrothed his heir to one of Lucius' daughters.

And so, for nearly four centuries, the Fall family had held it and the important mountain passes under its purview for the Exalted Line. Many of its members had been mages of immense power and skill, and all had been unfailingly loyal to their Exalts.

Until now at least. Whist Cintra's father had died in a fearsome duel with the Plegian King Hasdrubal, loyal to Exalt Isolde unto his death, Cintra had turned her back on her Exalt, betrayed him, all to avenge her father, and her father's Exalt.

The Isoldian's flight from the Capital had been hurried and perhaps a little hasty in its execution, but successful nonetheless. Bradshaw's brash actions had nearly resulted in their capture before they'd even left capital territory. Baron Haycox's son had held the royal guard off as best he could, buying time for the rest of the secessionists to get away. The Baron himself had been distraught, of course. His son's fate was the inevitable fate of all traitors, after all.

So now they were all holed up in her Castle as they awaited their armies to arrive, if they ever did. The Barons, those power hungry landowners, had taken to hounding Bradshaw with demands and ideas and treating her, their own damn host, as little more than a foolish little girl.

Only Aurelian Abbendis sat with her in her solar now. The man was pleasant, fatherly. Something she had missed. Whilst she had been devoted to her father, he had been distant. She'd been raised by tutors, staunch Isoldians all. She'd even met the former Exalt when she had studied at the  _Collegium Magum_. Having Abbendis here was like having her father back, in a way.

"..That was far too close for my liking."

"At least you are not in a wheelchair, my dear Lady Fall." Aurelian smiled, amusement in his voice. "Trust me when I say that it was easier for you to get away than it was for me."

She let out a short bark of laughter, before her humor died on her lips. "...Do you think His Radiance with accept?"

"Ha! Do I believe that Nicholas will accept the military faction of his council declaring independence well?" The wheelchair bound lord snorted. "I don't believe he will. But who can he call upon? Farmers? The Royal Guard? The tattered remains of the provincial soldiers? My Lady, you are the daughter of Octavian the Kingslayer, both you and he are Mages very few can compare to. You have little to fear."

"..Not with your strategic mind directing our efforts, Lord Abbendis." Cintra smiled. "If you can promise that, I can promise that your children will be safe here."

"And for that I am thankful beyond words, My Lady."

Before either could speak again, the solar doors were thrown open, and the remaining Isoldian League leaders strode in. Claudius Bradshaw, who now styled himself 'Lord Protector of the Isoldian League', sat down in the chair at the head of the table, and gestured for the others to sit down.

"Is there any news from Ylisstol?" He demanded, his gaze fell on his host. "This is your Castle, Lady Fall. Surely you should know some news by now."

"Nothing, Lord Protector." Fall replied with a visible frown. "And do  _try_ to speak to me with some respect, as you yourself say,  _this is my Castle._ "

"..My apologies, My Lady. I meant no offence." Bradshaw sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter, our forces represent the military heartland of the Halidom. From Ylisse, only Bloodman's forces and those of the royal guard truly represent a danger. Plegia's Dark Fliers with no doubt prove dangerous, but our mages and archers should have them well in hand. We wiped most of the filth from their Eastern Provinces, so I doubt very much it will take much to seize them for ourselves."

Lord Lawrence nodded firmly. "I will have my fleets prepare to blockage what ports we can. The shipyards of Greensea will churn out what we might need, My Lord Protector. But we might well require Lancaster funding. My honorable Baron Regent, I trust that this will not prove an issue?"

"Not at all." Victor Lancaster answered easily. He was in his mid-thirties, and the uncle of the true Baron of Lancaster, Tyrian. "I will open the vaults, if need be. Funding will not be a problem."

"Good." Bradshaw nodded. "..And the men? When will they arrive?"

"..My men will likely be here by weeks end." Baron Haycox murmured. "They are bringing everything they can. I have order Oli-...Mattias to hold some troops back as a defence for of lands."

Silence fell upon the room for a few moments, before Bishop Fairbanks spoke up. "Oliver will have his justice in time, Robert. Trust in that, my friend. Trust in Naga."

"..I do, good Bishop." Haycox smiled sadly. "But words...do little to dull the loss of one's child."

"..The loss of Oliver Haycox wounds us all." Bradshaw declared. "...Derringdon, Weatherspoon? What say you? When will  _your_ troops arrive?"

"..About two days for mine, Lord Protector." Derringdon replied. "Amongst their number are a force of one hundred battlemages. They could easily hold of any Ylissean force, should it come to it."

"Within the week." Was Weatherspoon's simple answer. "They are bringing supplies in bulk, hence any delay."

Bradshaw nodded "Caverndish?"

"The same as Weatherspoon, My Lord Protector." He answered. "Within the week."

"Good to hear." Bradshaw replied with a smile. "Within seven days, we will know where we stand."

There was a knock on the door, and all eyes fell upon a servant, head bowed.

"Speak." The Lord Protector ordered.

"Forgive me, my Lords and Ladies." The servant bowed. "But there is a Lady Carcosa here. She has...letters."

Only Aurelian saw that Cintra had gone chalk white at the mention of the newcomers name, her eyes wide and full of concern. The elder man leaned over and gently clasped her hand in what he hoped she'd note as a calming gesture. "...She can be trusted, child. Do not fret."

Lady Carcosa strode in. Her pink hair cascaded down her back, and a sickly sweet smile remained on her face. She tossed a letter onto the table, and took a seat, purposefully next to Cintra.

"Forgive the lateness, honoured Lord Protector." She said. "Those mountain passes are a pain to navigate."

"You are forgiven, Juno." Bradshaw smiled as he moved to open the letter. "This news is worth it."

He cleared his throat, and read aloud.

_Unto the Isoldian League,_

_You have wished for the war to continue._

_So be it. War it is._

_I will not waste the Almighty's time by praying for you._

_-Validar Alexios, King of Plegia and the Plegians_

"...War it is." Bradshaw declared with a strange, relieved solemnity. "Just as Exalt Isolde intended. The crusade continues my friends."

The sound of skidding feet in the hallway drew the attention of the council. The 'intruder' was young, probably six or seven, blonde and had a toy axe in one hand. He hopped from one foot to the other anxiously.

"Vaike?!" Aurelian questioned aloud. "Why do you intrude on us like this?!"

"It's Raimi father!" The young boy exclaimed. "She's gone! Taken a horse! Gone!"

* * *

**Edit: I've gone back to previous chapters and changed Tharja's surname from Kaiopelles to Argead. I felt it suited the ruler of Macedon better.**


	7. Book 1 Chapter 7: Secessionist War 2

The Plegian Capital of Thebes was, if one asked an Ylissean, built beneath the bones of their heathen god, Grima, as proof of their undying devotion to him. In truth, the city was built about half a mile south of the bones, as building a city beneath Grima's bones would have been incredibly difficult, if not bordering on sacreligious unless one wanted to turn the entire capital into what would legally be a temple. Theocratic Kingdom though Plegia may be, it would be impractical to enforce Clerical Law upon the citizenry,  _especially_ in the capital. (There  _was_ a temple at the site of Grima's Bones, the 'Temple of the Tomb of the First Daughter', commonly known simply as the Temple of the Tomb, possibly the most holy site to the Grimleal faith.)

Thebes was also were the refugees from the Eastern Provinces had fled to during and after the crusade. Most of them hailed from the Duchies of Altea and Macedon, but there was a sizable northern minority, from the Duchy of Grust.

Four children ran through the market, tailed not so subtly by a pair of royal guards. The annoyed looks on the faces of the storekeepers soon fading into polite smiles as it dawned on them just who the children were. The strange, mock 'Inner Circle' of the ten year old heir to the throne, Robin Alexios. Whilst the noble families of Plegia were slowly starting to send youngest sons and daughters to serve as companions to the Prince, none of them had yet become his friends.

"Come on Sunshine!" The eldest of the quartet called out. Gaius of Thebes was, in his own words, 'The Greatest Pickpocket in Thebes'. The twelve year old was almost eternally cheerful, despite his poor lot in life. He had met Robin when the latter had accidently slipped out of the Palace during the crusade, and introduced him to the common people of his nation. Whilst to start with, Gaius had unashamedly used Robin as a way to get free stuff and good food, he had quickly found himself genuinely liking the young Prince, who he had taken to calling 'Bubbles'. "You need to keep up, else they'll leave us behind!"

'Sunshine' was in fact the Duchess of Macedon. Tharja Argead was both the youngest and newest of the young Crown Prince's circle of friends. It was decidedly unusual for one of the four Ducal Family Heads (or their heirs) to stay at the capital. But as Macedon had been one of the areas worst hit during the crusade, her maternal Uncle and Regent, Campari Aeniad had used his authority to move the Macedonian court to Thebes until such a time as the political landscape of the continent calmed back down to peace. Whilst Campari did love his niece, he had been utterly unprepared to raise a child, which he had had to do since Tharja's parents had fallen in the Crusade when she had been merely a few months old, leaving the servants and tutors to do so whilst he lead the Macedonian forces.

As such, she kept a small, half happy, half embarrassed smile on her face as she ran along the streets of Thebes, her dark hair in twintails and hugging a tome close to her chest. Due to her upbringing, she lacked any friends. Thankfully, Robin was quick to take her under his wing and showed her the capital. Whilst she preferred the quiet solace of the royal library, the chance for mischief was a surefire lure to get her outside.

The last of Robin's trio of friends was Lauren of Troy, or 'Rocky' as Gaius had dubbed her. The daughter of a Priest, and Robin's oldest friend. When he had been merely a distant member of the Royal Family, their friendship was entirely acceptable. Now though, the middling Lords of Plegia had started to look upon their bond with jealousy. Neither Robin nor his father cared. The King was of the opinion that his son would one day need loyal allies,  _trustworthy_ allies, in his future as one of the rulers of what would be the main power on the continent, and if the daughter of a Priest from some minor city in the middle of nowhere could prove loyal and true, then that mattered more than the grumblings of the power hungry.

* * *

The quartet (and their guards), eventually arrived in a quiet part of the market district, marked out in particular by a simple fountain.

"Hello Mister Gee!" Robin exclaimed to the man sat on the bench by the fountain. Set at his side was a single bread roll, and an old, battered flash made of metal.

"..Good afternoon, My Prince." The man greeted with a minute smile. "Forgive that I do not bow, old Gangrel is feeling under the weather as of late."

"You're not  _that_ old Mister Gee." Lauren chimed in.

"Yes! You are just a little under the weather, that's all!" Robin declared confidently.

"...You are very kind to say, my Prince." He chuckled, before spying Tharja. He inclined his head politely in her direction. "...Hello, Mi'lady Sunshine. I am glad to see you out and about."

"H-Hi, M-Mister Gee." Tharja tried to hide behind her tome. "...H-How are you? A-Are you better?"

"Of course! Do you really think that an illness is enough to slow down the great Gangrel?!" He barked a loud laugh. Gangrel was not the real name of the man slumped on the old stone bench, but it was what he went by. He was younger than he actually appeared, but with his gaunt face, unkempt red hair, and consistent coughing, one could be forgiven for making the impression that he was far older.

The quartet let out a laugh, and dashed off again.

It was one of the guards watching over the Prince that approached him, sitting himself down next to the redhead. Gangrel eyed him with barely disguised suspicion, and lifted his battered metal flask up to his lips. Letting out a disgusted sigh, he growled. "What do you want?"

"...Why is it that the Prince trusts you so,  _thief_?" The guard asked, resting a hand on the hit of their blade.

Gangrel rolled his eyes. "Because Sugarcube does."

The guard shot him a blank stare. "...Who?"

"Gaius! Because  _Gaius_ trusts me." Gangrel explained, taking a sip again. "..since I look after him."

"...What do you mean?" The guard questioned.

"Someone needed to run the pickpockets in this district of the city." Gangrel said with a shrug. "Might as well be someone that actually gives a damn about them...for however long I've got."

"..Is it working?" The guard asked quietly. "Are you getting better?"

"...No." Gangrel admitted. "But seeing me take the medicine makes the kids think I will. If that keeps them from being worried, then that is reason enough to take it."

"I see. That's pretty noble of you." The guard told him with a small smile. "Dare I ask what's in the medicine?"

"It's mostly cinnabar apparently, with a few herbs and spices to 'take the edge off', whatever that means. Does nothing for the taste." Gangrel grumbled as he took another sip, and promptly grimaced. "I dread to wonder how they will survive after..whatever this is...finally takes me."

"...I am...certain that his Majesty will be able to do something for them." The guard offered a smile. "He will ensure they are looked after."

Gangrel let out a wheezing laugh. "Then why has he not done so already? His Majesty has all the power he could want. The power to  _do whatever_ he wants. He hasn't helped us."

The guard said nothing in response, and Gangrel snorted. "..'S what I thought."

Robin's voice cut into the pairs conversation. "U-Uhm..both of you may want to see this.."

The guard helped Gangrel to his feet, and the two followed after the young Prince. Soon, upon reaching the main street down from the Palace, they were met by a large crowd. Over the din of the people however, the clinking and clanking of armour was loud and clear. Hundreds of soldiers were marching through the street. It was Gangrel that spoke first."...Well damn.."

It was the Blackguard. The army of the Dolhr Duchy, the ducal territory the Royal Family held. With armour dark as the night sky, wicked looking pikes, and silvery cloaks, they represented the might of the Capital. Its numbers where cut in half during the Crusade, and most, if not all of its members were out for blood. Following them were more soldiers, from the various regions of Plegia, with banners of many colours fluttered above the soldiers.

His father rode that their head, looking resplendent in a set of Mage Regalia, of an appropriately extravagant standard as befitted a King. Sat atop his head was an ugly crown of twisted black metal, the war crown. He brought the soldiers to a halt, and rode forward a short distance, and wheeled around. He cleared his throat, and his voice boomed across the market. "It is with a heavy heart...that so soon after achieving a peace accord with our ancient enemy, we must march to battle and war once again! Violent radicals have broken away from the Halidom because they value power over peace! Who wish to continue the hateful campaign of blood and hate!"

Harsh whispers broke out amongst the crowds. Validar raised a hand, and they were silenced.

"So I say this, my people! Let us crush them! Let us end the ideology of that  _bitch Isolde!_ Let the last war fought by Plegia and Ylisse be one fought together against a vile foe! For our Children! For Plegia! For Grima!"

There were cheers and cries, and Validar guided his horse around again, and started to ride once more. From where they were stood, Robin felt Tharja freeze beside him, and soon saw why. Her Uncle was riding by. Campari offered a wave towards her, before continuing on his way.

Then it was Robin's turn to freeze. For he was something that shouldn't be amongst the army, a banner that displayed a wholly unexpected sigil, a golden fleur-de-lis on a black field.

But that didn't make sense.

Because it would mean his sister, Aversa, was going to war.

* * *

**I must apologise for the delay on this one. I have recently changed jobs and I'm still settling into my new schedule. The next DDaEP update should be in the next week or so, hopefully. In other news, the first side story for DDaEP is up, so go check it out if you're following that story.**


	8. Book 1, Chapter 8: Secessionist War 3

_Emmeryn Lowell, Crown Princess of the Halidom of Ylisse._

_As I am certain you have already heard, my father has marched off to war with the mutual enemy of both our nations, the 'Isoldian League'. No doubt your own father already has plans in motion to join him._

_What you may_ not  _know, is that my sister, the Lady Aversa will be joining him. She is skilled, but inexperienced. This will be the first, and Grima willing, the only time she will have to see war. With any luck (and by the will of the Gods), the conflict will be a short one, and at as low a cost as possible. Not only for the sake of peace, but so that we can resume our correspondence without the risk of Isoldian interference._

 _Perhaps with luck, you may visit Thebes for the Yalda Festival this year? If the war is short, and with our fathers agreement, of course. Perhaps I might visit Ylisstol for Yule in return? If I remember correctly, Yule occurs_ after  _Yalda, (which occurs for four days: the day of the Winter Solstice, and the three days leading up to it.) although do correct me if I am wrong._

_Respectfully yours, and may the blessings of Grima and Naga both be upon you._

_Your friend,_

_-Robin Alexios_

* * *

Sat in her father's study, Emmeryn smiled as she reread the latest letter from Robin for what must have been at least the sixth time since receiving it that morning. The fact that he was still contacting her, despite the actions of her now former countrymen, pleased her greatly. As did the (admittedly unofficial) invitation to visit her friend for the 'Yalda Festival'.

She knew it was important. Her grandmother had boasted at length of taking advantage of the holy celebration to launch a series of surprise attacks on Plegia...and this boasting had lasted right up until the Plegian's had responded in kind, launching an offensive of their own on a day considered holy by  _Naga's_ faithful. Which Isolde had not taken well..at all. There had been  _many_ executions, both of Plegian prisoners and of her own commanders.

She shoved the letter into one of her pockets as her father entered the room. Her smile faded, and her now well practiced public mask slid into place. "Father?"

"It is time, Emmeryn." Nicholas told her calmly. "The ceremony will soon begin...and unfortunately, it must be done in front of witnesses."

"Of course father." She responded. "I understand."

She rose from her chair, and soon fell into step with her father as he strode wordlessly through the palace. It was an uncomfortable silence, after all, no Exalt had successfully completed the ritual in over a century. The odds were that Nicholas too, would fail. This was a fact he was  _very_ aware of, and were it not for tradition, he would have declined to partake. The last thing he needed was obvious evidence of Naga's disfavour.

They passed through a set of heavy oak doors. The knights positioned either side of it eyed the pair, but said nothing. The Royals made their way down the winding halls down to the chambers below.

The circular room beneath the palace was lit only by braziers. It was vast, with a shallow pit in the centre. Within  _that_ was a large, cubic rock, within which rested the holy blade, Falchion. Herschel Morris, the current Hierarch, was slowly pacing around the outer ring. When the royal pair made their entrance, he offered a deep bow, and made his way over to them.

"Your Radiance, Your Highness." He greeted with a thin smile. "Good day to both of you. I pray that you are both well?"

"Well enough, Hierarch." The Exalt replied. "If a tad...apprehensive. One only has a single attempt at this, after all."

Before Morris could respond, the Royal Herald strode in and cleared his throat. Both Nicholas and the Hierarch leveled similar looks of disdain in his direction. To his credit, the Herald soldiered on.

"Isambard Cicero Lowell, Ducal Regent of Whitecliff Bay, Lord Admiral of the Fleet and Prince of the Halidom." He announced as the man strolled into the chamber. Isambard was a full decade younger than his brother, his blue hair hadn't begun to gray, and he yet carried himself with a youthful swagger.

"Izzy." Nicholas greeted with a nod. "It is good to see you."

"..Nick." His brother grinned, before glancing towards his niece. "And little Emmy! Look at you!"

"Hello Uncle." Emmeryn smiled, and promptly stepped forward to embrace her Uncle. He cheerfully obliged her, spinning her around in an embrace of his own. When he finally let her go, she

"Eheh.." Isambard cleared his throat, and bowed deeply before his niece. "Your lands of Whitecliff Bay are prosperous as ever, Grand Duchess."

The heir or heiress to the Ylissean Throne was traditionally granted the Grand Duchy of Whitecliff Bay upon their tenth birthday, or upon the accession to the throne of their Lowell parent. But, in a strange contradiction, the law stated that said heir or heiress could not legally 'hold' the title until they were of age. Instead, a Regent was required, as was the situation in Macedon across the border. However, as the Grand Duchy was the dominion of the heir to the throne,.

"Thank you, Uncle." Emmeryn replied, choosing her next words carefully. "Your services are, as ever, deeply appreciated."

"Indeed." Nicholas nodded, before turning to his daughter. "Emmy, go have a talk with the Hierarch, I need a word with your Uncle."

Emmeryn nodded once, and headed off to the man that guided Naga's faithful on the correct course, or was supposed to, at least.

"It should be you claiming the blade." Nicholas told him. "You can wield it better than I."

"I am better at hacking at people with a sharpened length of flattened metal than you are, Brother, that much is true." Isambard conceded with a good natured grin. "But that is it. I am not a better administrator. Nor a better peacemaker. Nor a better  _knight._ Go claim the sword, Your Radiance."

"Naga willing, of course." Nicholas pointed out with a smile. "Nothing is certain, after all."

"Don't be pessimistic, Nicky." The amused tone of Exalt-Consort Maria drifted into the ears of the trio as she approached, the rest of the court following in behind her. Her family was actually foreign, from one of the many nations of Valm across the sea. The House of Renault was one of the five Princely families of the Serene Entente, and Exalt Isolde had married her son to one of their daughters in exchange for the Renaults making weapons and armour for her armies. The Renaults had eagerly obliged, and fulfilled the order a full six months early. She herself was not  _unpopular,_ but at the same time, her efforts to educate her children about the wider world beyond Ylissean borders had been stymied by their tutors, the majority of whom had until recently had been Isoldians. "You're as worthy as you can be."

"..Thank you for your confidence, Maria."

"We march for war at dawn." Nicholas sighed. "Regardless of what happens today."

"Ha! I have a bottle of fine Rosanne Wine for when we return, Brother." Isambard grinned. "It's a sad fact that I must admit I was keeping it for when our bitch of a mother died, the onset of real peace is as good a think to drink to as any, no?"

"..There really is no need for language like that."The Exalt quietly commanded. "...Heartless though she was, she was still our mother."

"Yes yes, don't speak ill of the dead and all that." Isambard waved a hand dismissively. "But frankly, I hated the woman ever since she had Father executed."

Nicholas said nothing, instead he marched into the pit as silence fell around him. The eyes of the entire court were on him now, and many fingered coins for various bets amongst themselves. Hierarch Morris' voice filled the chamber. "...You may proceed, Exalt."

Nicholas knelt in front of the blade, hands slowly wrapping around its hilt. A prayer to Naga left his lips, and he closed his eyes, and pulled. A pillar of glorious, golden light engulfed him, and the Falchion left its rocky prison, resplendent as the day it was formed. To Nicholas, it almost felt weightless, and ever so slightly warm. The light around him dimmed, to reveal him standing, holy blade in hand, to the onlookers.

Nicholas frankly looked bewildered, as if he couldn't quite believe that the sword was free and in his hand. "Hierarch, are you able to confirm for my people, that what has happened here today, is by the will of Naga?"

"Aye, Your Radiance. Proudly." Morris cleared his throat, and his voice boomed throughout the room. "Good people of Ylisse! I gives me great pleasure to announce that, by the grace of Naga, Exalt Nicholas Lowell has been found worthy of wielding the holy blade, Falchion! A Wielder at long last!"

Silence. At least thirty people were in the chamber, and there was nothing but utterly shocked silence.

"Frederick?" Nicholas called, breaking the silence. "I have need of you...Get me paper and ink, I have a letter to write."

* * *

_Unto the traitorous swine of the Isoldian League,_

_I wish to extend my greetings to you all, and to inform you of your impending imprisonment and/or death._

_However, I am bound by certain laws. Ones I am unwilling to break simply to deal with the likes of you._

_And so, in accordance with the Laws put down by Exalt Aloysius the Younger, you have until the start of the next moon to surrender to my authority and rejoin the Halidom of Ylisse. No harm nor punishment will come to you should you choose to follow that course of action. As per the aforementioned Laws, your recent actions will legally be seen as an extreme protest to recent political treaties._

_Should you refuse to stand down, you shall be destroyed utterly without mercy or hesitation._

_Understand this. Should you pursue that course of action, you will fail. Your soldiers will die for a pointless disagreement. For the simple fact that their masters desire to hold onto power. Not for any self-righteous bigotry or racism you might prefer to claim._

_May the blessings of Naga be upon you and yours. You are sure to need them._

_-Nicholas Lowell, Exalt of Ylisse and the_ _Wielder of Falchion_

* * *

**I am unlikely to be updating any of my stories before the New Year, so I would like to take the opportunity to thank each and every one of you for your support (and patience) this year, and wish you all the best for the coming year.**

**-Rem**


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